


Light Does Not Yield

by ironwreath (broodingmischief)



Series: dungeons & dragons [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Fictional Religion & Theology, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Multi, Pack Mom, Past Relationship(s), Personal Growth, Religion, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 13,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22796164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broodingmischief/pseuds/ironwreath
Summary: Snippets into Union; tiefling cleric of Sarenrae of the light domain. Prone to setting things on fire. Set in Exandria.Cross posted from Tumblr.Art of Union here.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Series: dungeons & dragons [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638913
Kudos: 1





	1. Awake

**Author's Note:**

> [Related work by my friend, who plays Twill.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795882/chapters/54476197) Read their stuff!
> 
> Any number between brackets indicates the session the fic takes place around. If there are no brackets, it takes place before or after the game or in-between sessions. These ficlets are in chronological order of the game's events and character's lives, not in the order I wrote them.
> 
> “Love, love, love, it was the  
> core of my life, from which, of course, comes  
> the word for the heart. And, oh, have I mentioned  
> that some of them were men and some were women  
> and some—now carry my revelation with you—  
> were trees. Or places. Or music flying above  
> the names of their makers. Or clouds, or the sun  
> which was the first, and the best, the most  
> loyal for certain, who looked so faithfully into  
> my eyes, every morning. So I imagine  
> such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its  
> innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine  
> this is how it began.” — Of Love, Mary Oliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union comes to in River's Rest after drowning and losing the use of his eye.
> 
> (Skyrim Nord voice) Hey, you. You're finally awake.

Union had touched death before. He touched it in the wounds of others, sapping away their life, but only ever at a distance and with tools. Sometimes he could repel it, but other times it claimed their victim. He had never been so close to it himself.

The first time Union awoke, it wasn’t for long. He opened his eyes, or tried to. One refused to open, weighed down by a thick cotton pad and layers of bandages that reached up to his horn. He blinked. A wooden ceiling, illuminated by a single orange candle, greeted him. He blinked again. A human woman stood in the room, staring at him in surprise with a tray in her hands. She had tanned white skin, calloused hands, short brown hair, and a working apron of some kind. Her cheeks were freckled, like his.

He bolted upright, but pain erupted in his side and he passed out.

The second time Union awoke he let consciousness roll over him. The aching in his side was nestled under bandages as well and he recalled the jagged, unforgiving claws of the harpies raking into his body. That same pain throbbed where his eye was held shut, digging into his head like thorns. He shuddered, but it served as a reminder that he was alive.

He cracked open his eye. This time a human man sat beside him, one who resembled the girl with the same hair, skin, and freckled cheeks, only he had blue-green eyes instead of brown. His arms were thick with muscle. Union couldn’t recognize his hands by appearance, but they looked strong enough to lift him. He held a book, fingers flipping a page. As Union rolled his head to get a better look at the script, a cloth fell from his forehead and he couldn’t help but give to a groan of pain.

The man looked to him and smiled. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Where am I?” Union croaked.

“River’s Rest, south of Fort Daxio,” the man said. “Was ‘fraid you wouldn’t make it. We found you just in time.”

“Found me where?”

“Riverside and waterlogged. We found you two days ago, banged up to all hell. Had to bring in our friend Regis to get you fixed up proper.”

“Who is we?”

The girl from before poked her head in from an open doorway. “Hello!”

From behind her Union caught the scent of cooked meats, beans, vegetables, and potatoes. From a window through that door, he saw a darkening navy sky dotted with stars. His stomach rumbled and his throat pleaded for water.

“Name’s Jamie, and that’s my daughter Aletta,” he said. As if reading his mind, or simply listening to his stomach, he asked, “You hungry? Thirsty?”

Union nodded. The girl beamed, hustled out and from the other room he could hear the clanking of pots, pans, and dishes. The man – Jamie – gazed at him warmly.

Aletta returned with a tray of food, plates, and a jug of water, and placed it on the dresser. She passed one tray to her father, who helpfully placed it in Union’s lap, and then another for him and herself. She claimed another chair close to the foot of the bed and dug in.

Jamie reached out to adjust Union’s pillow and gingerly helped him sit up and rest his back against it. That alone winded Union and as his body rose above the blanket, he saw why. Bandages engulfed his entire left side. They reached across his pectoral, wound all the way up his arm, and finished around his collarbone. He could see a smattering of healing scratches around his waist, likely from wherever trees snagged him as he ran or rocks cut him as he fell.

He could only recall the event in splashes, more in feelings than in pictures. Thinking too hard invited a nasty throb from his head.

He glanced worriedly at Jamie, who only smiled at him and gestured to the food. Union speared a cut potato and nibbled. All at once the enormity of their kindness overwhelmed him. The flavour, warmth, spice, and its texture was cooked with care. Tears sprung to his eyes. He covered his mouth with his right hand to stifle a sob, sniffled, and then winced as the salt stung the wounds around his bandaged eye, dampening the cotton.

Jamie placed a hand between his shoulder blades, well away from any of his bandages. “Easy,” he rumbled.

“Thank you,” was all Union managed.

* * *

The third time Union awoke, dawn’s first light colouring his bed, Aletta stood where her father had sat, lowering a straw into a fresh cup of water. He rubbed his good eye until she came into focus.

She glanced to him, beamed, then sucked in her lips as if trying to stop herself from smiling.

“Hi,” she said. “Good morning. Didn’t mean to wake you again.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’ve had enough of sleeping. Been doing nothing but sleeping for the last several days.”

Despite this, his eyelids were still heavy, threatening to drag him under again. 

She leaned over him, face drawn serious. “It seems like you’ve been through a lot,” she observed. “If you don’t wanna talk about what happened, I get it. We can talk about other things instead. Like, why are your hands so warm? Just a thought.”

Union smiled. “I’d like that.”

She grinned at him, all evidence of seriousness lost, nodded, and left. Union was unconscious again before the door closed behind her.


	2. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union meets Regis, the cleric of River's Rest.

The day after Union awoke, Regis arrived. Union was upright in bed at the time, rolling his bandaged arm over and bringing it to and from his face, trying to gauge distance. He experimentally reached for things on the dresser and grasped at the empty space beside them. He needed practise.

A polite knock came from the door, then the creak of wood as it opened. Union stared as a bronze dragonborn man filled the space, nearly as tall as the frame. He dressed in long white and blue robes. It was difficult to determine his age, but based on his posture and his thinner, bonier limbs, he assumed him to be older. But for a dragonborn, how old was old? One hundred years? Two hundred?

Regis smiled at him, leaning on a staff. “Well, well, well. He’s awake.”

Union blanched. He had met clerics before and seen miracles performed, but somehow this one made him nervous. To know he had cradled Union’s life in his hands and coaxed him away from death’s door was humbling.

“I, ahm—indeed? I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing.” Regis entered with a _thunk_ of the staff, stepping over to the dresser. “It’s a shame they couldn’t bring you to me sooner, or I might’ve been able to do something about that dang eye of yours.”

Union glanced away, unconsciously reaching a hand towards the injured half of his face. “It’s—yes.”

The dragonborn – Regis – reached out with his staff to touch Union’s wrist and lower it. “Don’t touch.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, just trying to make sure you heal up proper! Don’t need you making my life more difficult, son.” He drew up a chair and lowered himself into it with his staff sitting across his lap. “You said your name was Union?”

“Yes.”

Regis tapped a claw against his mouth. “Why Union?”

“Why does anyone have the name they have, sir?” Union asked. “It was given to me.”

“You didn’t pick it yourself?”

“No.”

“As I understand it, tieflings sometimes take on names of a virtue they wish to embody. Am I wrong?” Regis frowned. “Forgive me if I’ve assumed, we don’t get a lot of tieflings in town, see.”

“No, you would be right. Not all tieflings do, but my family does follow that particular tradition. I was given Union in the hopes of uniting my sister with our family.” He clutched at his shirt. “I’ve done a poor job of upholding that particular virtue.”

“Is it rude to ask why a tiefling’s name is what it is?”

Union sighed. “I’ve not met enough tieflings to say. Oftentimes the virtue is simple enough that you need not ask. Perhaps it can be seen as a bit obtuse, yes, but others may be eager to answer. It depends.”

Regis nodded along with him. For every word that came out of his mouth, Regis paid great attention. It felt odd, because Union didn’t feel as though he was saying anything worth remembering, but it was welcome all the same. The kindness spread through him and made his wounds feel far away.

Regis cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you for a few reasons, Union. Jamie and Aletta’ve given me your story already, but if you’d tell it again, I would hear it. I just have one question for you.”

“Yes?”

Regis reached for the dresser by Union’s bed. His claws curled under the string of a necklace and he picked up the holy symbol Union had previously worn, the symbol of the Lawbearer. He held it aloft and it caught the light of day pouring in through the window, twisting gently midair. Union stared.

“Found this on you when you washed up here. Are you a man of faith?”

Union’s hands twisted in his lap. The question felt like a strike of lightning; blinding, powerful, painful, and loud in the aftermath of its destruction. He didn’t know.

“I was, once,” Union answered, tearing his eye away. “Perhaps that faith is frayed, or fractured. I don’t know. I’ve always known those higher powers existed, they can’t be denied.”

“But do you believe _in_ them?” Regis asked.

“I don’t know,” Union repeated. “I don’t know what I believe.”

“Do you want to?”

Union looked back to him. Regis lowered the holy symbol back to the dresser, his hand cupped over it, then settled back over his staff.

“Want to what?”

“Believe. Have faith.” His face crinkled in a smile, his fangs glinting beneath scales. “I get the feeling you do.”

Union’s mouth twisted. “I’m confused.”

“Here, here. Gimmie your hand.” Union held out a hand and Regis took it in his own. His fingers were longer and thicker than Union’s own, but they had the same sort of delicate, clawed appearance. They were warm and gentle to the touch. 

“It sounds like you were put through a bit of a trial that’d shake anyone’s beliefs. Now, I’m a bit biased, but I would argue that Sarenrae protected you and brought you here to me. It’s through her that I was able to heal you at all.” He squeezed his hand. “I wanna make sure you have something to hold on to when you leave here. So I’ll ask you again: do you want to believe?”

The answer came easier this time. “I think I do. In time.”


	3. Dip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aletta gets Union to come in the water.

Aletta lead Union by the hand along the shore of the river. Every day she lead him further from River’s Rest as his strength grew and he adjusted to having half of his vision.

It was dusk, and Union could see the faintest glimmer of starts through the trees hugging the shoreline. He was nervous being so close to the water’s edge, for the same river nearly took his life, but where he’d fallen had been a gushing, bubbling current. Here, the water’s surface was almost a mirror with only the gentlest of movement. Here it was only strong enough to carry leaves, twigs, and dead weight not resisting its flow.

She stopped. She freed his hand, lifted her skirt, and tip toed over to the water. She slipped off a shoe and dipped her toes in. With a nod and a smile, she started to strip.

“Aletta,” Union said, blanching. “Is that wise?”

“It’s the wisest thing I’ve done all day.” She threw her shirt at him. He barely grabbed it out of the air before it hit the ground. He might not have caught it at all had her aim not been so good. He turned and gingerly placed it on the largest, flattest and least dirty rock he could find, then felt fabric fall over his horns and a shoe tumble past his foot. He extricated the cloth from his horns so it wouldn’t tear and pulled it forward. It was her skirt and trousers. His face burned as he folded and lowered them to the rock as well.

“Well?” she asked. “What’re you waiting for? I’m not going in alone, am I?”

Union faced her. She’d stripped down to just her underwear. He swallowed thickly.

“Is it deep?”

Aletta stepped into the river, waded in to where the water lapped the bottom of her ribs. “Not here.”

“Is it clean?”

“It shouldn’t bother your cuts, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. She sucked in a breath, submerged herself, then reemerged with a splash, slicking her hair back with a grin.

Union inched closer, clutching the fabric of his shirt with both hands. “Is it cold?”

“You’ll find out all the answers if you come in. It’s not cold right now, at least not to me.”

He pulled off a boot, then the other. He undressed much slower than Aletta, his gaze not once leaving the water as he set aside his clothes. He stripped down to his smalls, like her, and hugged himself as he stepped his feet in. It was neither cold nor warm, but it still sent goosebumps racing up his legs and arms.

She’d seen him nude before, and he had seen her, but the debilitating fear of having his lungs filled with water again made him recede into himself.

She walked over to meet him, found his hands, and drew them away from his body. “You won’t overcome your fear of water by avoiding it.”

“It’s not the water, necessarily,” he said. “It’s the drowning, the uhm, the swimming. It’s not being strong enough to resist the current.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” she assured him. “And you’re stronger than you look. The river can’t hurt you here, we’ll stay where our feet are always on the bottom.”

He allowed Aletta to coax him into the water, squeezing her hands to convey every ounce of fear and unease he felt as the river rose up to his knees, then his thighs, waist, and stomach. He shivered, unsure if it was the coolness of the water or his nerves. He stopped, unwilling to go further.

“Don’t look at the water,” she said. “Look at me.”

He did.

Some of his tension exited his body and he was able to reach where she’d been, water encircling his middle. His tail cut through water like an odd sort of oar, disturbing the silt and scaring away any fish. He could handle this. He wasn’t being chased and he wasn’t grievously injured.

“Why are we doing this, exactly?” Union asked.

Aletta released one of his hands to slide her other back and forth over the surface, watching the ripples.

“It’s fun,” she said. “Well, it can be fun. Being in the water with people you like is fun. I don’t want you to miss out on it.”

“I appreciate that,” Union said, “but what exactly about this is fun?”

She grinned, then splashed him. Lightly, because he gave a startled squeak and shielded himself. He turned on her with an indignant pout, and she took that as an invitation to splash him a second time, bigger than the first.

“ _Aletta_ ,” he said with force, but half laughing. “I’m trying to overcome my fear of drowning and you think _splashing_ me is going to help?”

“Is it working?”

“No, but it is—“ he splashed her, “—ensuring that I _never_ come in here with you again.”

“It’s fine—“ She shielded herself with an arm, then swept up more water his way, “—I got you in the one time, I think that’s a resounding success.”

They play fought a bit more, but Union soon found himself winded and called for a stop. He wasn’t soaked, and Aletta had aimed below his head, so his eye was undisturbed.

It had been fun. It had, for a time, made him forget that he’d drowned, focusing on Aletta instead of himself and the fact that he was hopping around in a substance that could kill him. She drifted by him, floating on her back, staring up at the sky and a hand resting on her belly.

“There’s so much water everywhere,” she said thoughtfully. “I think once you’re strong enough, you should learn to swim.”

“I think had you told me that at the beginning of the day, I might have disagreed,” he said. “This has helped.”

“Good.” She slipped backwards underwater, then broke the surface next to him and leaned against his side, linking her arm through his. “Monsters, people; you’ve faced way scarier stuff. Water isn’t gunna get up and start chasing you.”

“I should hope not,” Union said, not so subtly guiding them back to shore. “What are you trying to say?”

“I dunno. That it’ll be there when you’re ready to face it, I guess.” She patted his arm. “I hope I was able to give you a good memory of it, at least.”

“You did.” He thought back. “Perhaps the first.”

She beamed at him. “And hopefully not the last.”


	4. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union bids farewell to Aletta.

Union dismounted and after a brief exchange with Jamie and Regis, took Aletta by the hand and lead her away from her father and the cleric. Jamie shot him a searching look, but turned his back to them to give them their privacy.

Union turned and swept both of her hands in his, drawing her close.

“Are you sure you’re all better?” she asked. “Can’t trip over a rock, sprain your ankle, stay a few more days..”

Union shook his head. “Given my history, it’s entirely possible and I’ll return at once. But no, I think I’ve already put this off too long. Are you certain you can’t come with me?”

Aletta shook her head this time. “I’m sure. I think I’ll travel one day, but today’s not that day.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry.”

Union had heard it once, but hearing it a second time hurt less. He’d reached a point of understanding, or so he thought. He absently played with her fingers with a nod.

“It’s scary, re-entering the world like this. I’m still me, but..”

“With less depth perception?”

He laughed. “That, but my perspective is new. My powers are new. I’m new, but the world is not.” He frowned. “I’m worried that it will try to do the same to me what it did before.”

“I think it always will, as pessimistic as that sounds,” she said. “It’s you that can remain steadfast. And you know there’s good out there too, like me.” She grinned. “You survived it once. If tragedy strikes again, you know you can survive again and come out stronger for it. Hopefully with your only eye left intact.”

Union laughed again, nodded, and took a deep breath. He squeezed her hands. “I’m going to miss you.”

She smiled, but it was bittersweet, and leaned up to kiss him. He melted into her, eventually wrapping her in his arms and holding her head to his chest while his cheek rested on her crown. They stayed like that for a while.

“You’re always welcome here,” she murmured into his robes. “Your sister, too, when you find her.”


	5. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union holds the baby of a woman he couldn't save who died in childbirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The location names used in this one aren't from Tal'Dorei cuz I wrote these in a friend's original world. Pretend they're lil towns not on the big map!

“Do you wanna hold her?”

Union looked up. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring so intently at the little bundled form cradled between massive green hands. The firelight flickered off the four of them; himself, Valcyis, Keth, and Keth’s newborn daughter. 

Keth smiled at him and Union felt a tug in his chest. His smile held a kindness Union could only wish to emulate but his eyes held an unspeakable sadness of life from even before Westbrooke. Union wished now more than ever that his magic could heal grief.

He also almost wished that Keth would be angry with him. If it were anyone else, they might have been, but with Keth there seemed to be an understanding beyond his years. Despite having no magic of his own, he seemed to understand that a new cleric such as Union couldn’t always make it in time to heal your wife and wasn’t powerful enough to revive her when she passed.

Maybe one day he could resurrect the dead, he thought. Maybe not Penny, but somebody. Anybody.

“You know how?”

Union hesitated. “I’ve held children before, but that was some time ago, when I was hardly a teenager. Perhaps a reminder is in order.”

“Sure. Like this. Support her head.”

Keth passed the baby half-orc to him and positioned his hands accordingly. Union drew her close to his chest, startled by how heavy she was. She always looked so tiny in Keth’s hands, Union forgot she would probably outgrow him by the time she hit puberty.

A thousand worries sprung to mind. Was his armour too hard? Were his arms too weak? Would she wail against him? But she only ogled up at him with big, black eyes. Tiny, pine green fingers reached up to paw and tug at his goatee, then pat the skin next to it. He rocked her in his arms.

“Yes, little one,” he cooed, “my hair may be white but don’t you think for a second that I’m old.”

“I hope everyone looks at her like that.”

Union looked up again. He only noticed now that he was beaming and Keth watched him with the same smile from before.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured to his face. “You’re glowin’ brighter than the sun. I want people to look at her like that all the time, an’ not the way they look at me.”

Union smiled sadly. “I hope so too, Keth.” He held Varonda back out for him. “But the idea of going to Urdraani is that everyone will, and then extend that kindness to you as well.” Keth took her. Union placed his hands over his. “You both deserve it.”

Keth didn’t look convinced, but didn’t argue. “Thanks.”

Union patted his hands before withdrawing. “We’ll get you there safely. Isn’t that right, Valcyis?” He shot a smile over his shoulder to the white dragonborn prodding their fire and dinner with a stick.

“Without a doubt,” she said without looking up.

Keth held out Varonda to her, babbling now. “Would _you_ like to hold her?”

“Oh, gods, no.”


	6. Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rolf, a quarter-orc paladin, is reckless. Union is frustrated. Rolf explains why.

“You’re mad.”

Union’s hands ceased. He bristled at what was more of a statement than an accusation, but that made it stark clear: he _was_ mad. Part of it must have been exhaustion. He depleted his entire pool of magic for the second day in a row. He was normally quite resourceful and had something left in him by the end of the day; magic that could be used in a pinch for emergencies.

With Rolf, he realized this was going to become a trend. He was expending all of his resources trying to keep the man alive while he charged into monsters and bandits alike, swinging his battle-axe in a frenzy and shouting profanities and insults. Even the other fighters in their group couldn’t seem to stem the flow of damage that gravitated towards him and then Union was the one patching him up by the campfire.

It was a miracle he had even lived this long to meet Union if this was his method of fighting. Rolf channeled his own divine magic into attacks or healing their companions.

Union took a deep breath and continued to clean the wounds on Rolf’s upper back. They were going to leave a scar without the touch of magic and join the countless others he had. He said nothing.

“Are you mad at what’s happening, with how the mission is going?” Rolf asked. “Or are you mad at me?”

“How can you tell?” Union asked.

“You were gentler yesterday. You talked more.”

Union bowed his head and reached into the kit sitting next to Rolf on the log to extract a salve.

“Whenever I take on jobs such as these, it falls upon me to protect you,” Union said. “I take that job very seriously. But it’s not my job to protect just you. I have to protect the others as well. When you invite danger on to yourself and try and get every enemy out there to hurt you, it makes it significantly harder for me to look after not only you, but everyone else as well.”

His anger burned the more he explained, but he knew it would pass. He tried not to let that frustration bleed into his hands and touch, applying the salve with utmost care.

Rolf glanced over his shoulder. “It’s my job to protect all of you too.”

“Have you not considered protecting yourself?” Union asked.

“I have a shield.”

“A shield is only going to do so much when you’re surrounded because you’ve made yourself the biggest and loudest target in the countryside. A shield can’t cover all of you.”

“That’s what the armour is for.”

Union huffed. “If your armour were as effective as you were implying, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“I don’t mean to make things more difficult for you,” Rolf explained, apologetic. “It’s just _my_ way of protecting people. The more noise I make, the more I learn what offends people to get them to attack me instead of the rest of you..well, that’s better, right?”

Union’s hands stilled once more. His anger drained from him like a pin hole in a dam. He had been under the impression Rolf was another paladin hungry for glory, or perhaps enjoyed the rush of battle more than he valued his own life. He’d thought maybe Rolf wanted the highest kill count. It wouldn’t be the first Union had met, and he had jumped to conclusions.

“I think I had the wrong idea about you,” Union murmured.

“It’s okay,” Rolf said with a smile. “A lot of people do. I don’t mind. One of the bright sides to learning what makes people tick is also learning how to avoid it, but I guess I don’t always succeed there.” He paused, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

Union started to apply bandages, eye downcast. He realized one more thing: a lot of his anger came from a place of concern. No matter how much he could rationalize Rolf’s recklessness and the strength of their enemies, a small part of him knew that if anyone were to die, Union would blame himself for not being strong or quick enough.

He was beginning to suspect Rolf would feel similarly.

“No, it’s alright,” he said, smoothing out the bandages. “I hadn’t considered that. I’m sorry I’ve been cross.” He bent over to pack up his things. “It’s good we’re having this conversation now and not several days from now when I’m pulling out my hair.”

“Be a shame,” Rolf said, looking to Union’s ponytail.

“A shame, indeed,” Union agreed, giving it a flick.

“I’ll try and make sure I don’t make your job more difficult,” Rolf said. “It’s what I’m used to, so it might be hard, but I can try. We’re all a team here.”

A bead of warmth rooted in Union’s chest. He smiled. “Thank you.”


	7. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union rescues Rolf from slavers. Rolf saves him in return.

Union held on for dear life.

The horse between his legs beat a staccato rhythm of hooves that joined a chorus of other hooves, ones before him and ones at his back in pursuit. The land was an uneven dirt trail broken away from the main road and the night was black.

His horse's legs collapsed, the body crumpling inwards with a hideous screech. The momentum launched Union from the saddle, the reins flying from his hands. The only sound that escaped him was a small gasp before his world spun out of control and he smashed into the ground, rolling on his side to a stop.

The rain of hooves slowed and he heard armour approach. He struggled to his knees before a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet, then locked around under his chin, pinching his neck and choking the air out of him.

He squirmed, lashing with his tail and tossing back his horns until he had enough room to drop his head and sink his teeth as hard as he could into a gap between the leather plates. There was a howl of pain and a warm spurt of blood under his fangs, the coppery scent and taste consuming his senses. The bandit released him.

He spun round, backhanding the man across the face with his shield. There was a _wrench_ and a tooth flew as his head snapped to the side. As if in reply, something hard cracked him across the cheek, the blow forcing him to his knees. A second bandit joined the first.

"Lousy cleric," she spat, striking him again in the shoulder and sending him sprawling on his side. "Always gotta be ruining _our_ plans and stealing back _our_ prisoners."

"They were never yours to-" he cut off in an _oof_ as she kicked him in the side. The other bandit recovered and joined her, bringing down a mace. He brought up his shield and made himself small as he was buffeted from all sides.

Union heard a gurgle from above; the blows ceased. He glanced up to see Rolf, still horseback, his battle axe embedded under the jaw of one of his assailants. He yanked it out and leapt down from his horse, bashing the woman in the nose with a shield of his own. She staggered back and Union leapt to his feet. There were three bandits, four including the one bleeding to death.

Rolf swung again. One jumped back, out of reach, and another returned with a longsword. It caught him in the arm, a blow that would normally glance off his armour, but he was dressed in a threadbare linen shirt and pants. He didn't even have shoes. It still made him no less terrifying with his weapon and shield in hand, hair pointed in every direction and a snarl stretched across his dirtied face.

Union traced a few symbols midair. The temperature rose as a few arcane words left his lips, words of divine light meant to burn out evil. He touched his thumbs together and launched his hands outwards, a cone of fire jetting from the tips of his fingers. It encased all of the slavers in shrieks of terror and pain.

Rolf clambered back onto his horse and grabbed Union's lower arm as the flames ebbed into darkness. Two bandits remained, scorched and furious with their friend a shriveled corpse.

Rolf hauled Union on to the horse behind him, already spurring it into a gallop with a "hee-yah!"

Union planted his shield between himself and their pursuers as they drew out bows and arrows. One splintered off it while others sailed past them or came short. The staccato of hooves returned. He cast another spell, this one not clerical in nature, but from his infernal blood. A cloud of dark mist rolled out of nothing, obscuring the path behind them long enough to bring them out of reach. 

He turned and secured his arms around Rolf's middle, pressing a swollen, cut cheek into his back. He held on for dear life.


	8. Goodbye pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union bids Rolf farewell.

“Can I walk you out?”

Union nodded. Rolf took his hand and Union lead him out of the room, down through the tavern, and to the stables. He thought it perhaps unwise to indulge in this way but he found a certain peace to it, and Rolf deserved any tenderness he could get before Union was gone.

He loaded up his horse in silence while Rolf occasionally helped with a heavy bag. When he turned to face him he met a sullen, defeated look that stared into the middle distance. Union reached up to cup his cheek. Rolf’s eyes focused on him and the look intensified.

“I’m sorry,” Union said.

“Are you?” Rolf asked, but not harshly. He genuinely wanted to know.

Union thought. “I am,” he decided. “Perhaps not for my decision, but for everything leading up to it. For circumstances beyond our control.”

Rolf grasped Union’s wrist to pull it away from his face. “Your sister’s been missing for seven years. You have nothing to go off of, no lead to follow, and an entire world to comb. She could be dead, but I’m alive, and I’m here, and I need you. Are you always gunna abandon the people you love for someone you wouldn’t even know anymore?”

Union bristled. “I love her too,” he said. “To give up would be to abandon her.”

“She abandoned _you_ ,” Rolf argued, splaying his palms and stepping closer. His bulk cast a shadow over Union. “She doesn’t deserve your kindness. She could be out there without a care in the world, not thinking about you or your family and the grief she’s caused while you risk life and limb.”

“You don’t know that,” Union said, lifting his chin. “You say she could be all of these things, but neither of us will know for sure until I find her. I made a promise to her and myself, not to you.”

A look of hurt passed over Rolf’s face, but it was crushed under a look of frustration just as quick.

“You’re a cleric,” he pointed out. “I thought you also made a promise to do good and help those along the way. How is this helping me?”

“I _tried_ ,” Union said, and his voice broke, tears springing to his eyes, even from under his eyepatch. “I tried to help you and that town, but there are things that are simply beyond my powers. I can’t raise the dead where all there is is ash; I can’t even raise the dead when there is a body! I can’t fight whatever that thing was, and I can’t restore your mind. Please, understand.”

Rolf stepped back. He raised a hand to his face, pinching his eyes, which Union could see were misty. “You don’t have to use your powers, Union. Just being here, that helps.”

Union shook his head and turned to his horse, looping his hand through the bridle. “I can’t.” He stabbed a foot through a stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle, then lead her around to look down upon Rolf. Rolf didn’t meet his gaze at first, staring hard at the grass, but eventually looked up through his hair, heartbroken.

“I am sorry,” Union repeated softly. “Be well.”


	9. Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union meets a half-elf named Cihro, who helps him escape some local criminals in Stilben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cihro is my half-elf rogue I play from [Be Cunning, and Full of Tricks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795222/chapters/54474457). I wrote this for funsies and then it became canon. Yes, Cihro is low-key flirting - this is well before either of their games. No, they don't bang.

“Hey.”

It was said quiet, meant for his ears only. Union looked. To his right at the bar was a – human? – man, shorter but stockier, a hood drawn up over his head. What dark hair stuck out from underneath couldn’t seem to decide which direction to stick and he had a handsome, brown complexion. When he met his gaze, two hazel eyes greeted him.

“Those guys back there have been looking at you funny since you walked in.” He subtly jerked his head toward a table by the door. Union’s fingers curled into a fist on the bar.

He squinted at the hooded individual. He was difficult to read, which was unusual for Union, but seemed genuine enough. Union snuck a glance. He was telling the truth. A bunch of rugged, tough looking hodgepodge of people he passed on the way in shot him dirty looks. One of them toyed with a knife.

They looked vaguely familiar, though Union met a lot of people in his travels. He pursed his lips, looking back to the mystery man. 

“I see. You wouldn’t happen to be with them, would you?”

“No,” he said. “Not my style. What’re you doing in a bar like this?”

“It was suggested to me by a guard upon entering town.”

The man clicked his tongue. “Well, that guard recommended you the seediest place here.”

Union sighed. “Of course she did.”

“Hey, it happens. The guard in Stilben might as well be as bad as the thieves sometimes.” He drew back his hood, revealing two pointed ears, each pierced twice. Union inhaled. A half-elf. His hair floofed outwards.

“Names Cihro,” he said, smiling. “You wanna find a less seedy place?”

Union squinted more. “Even if you aren’t with them, you’re still here. Does that not make you seedy?”

“Do you think everyone who goes to a seedy bar is seedy?” He grinned. “Some people come here ‘cuz the booze is cheap. It’s trash, but it’s cheap. Some people get misdirected, like you.”

Union shot him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. That was presumptuous. Were you here for the drinks, then?”

“I was meeting a friend,” Cihro explained. “Just wrapped up and was on my way out. I wanna be in a nicer establishment as much as you do, mister…?”

Union shifted his weight. “Union.”

“Union.” He held up his hands. “You don’t have to come with, but that’s where I’m headed. If you do come, I promise I won’t lead you down any dark alleys.”

Union weighed his odds against this man. He looked to the bow strapped to his back and the shortsword sitting at his waist. He thought of all the folds of clothes that could conceal a knife. He wanted to believe Cihro was being generous, loved nothing more than believing in the goodness of people, but being in the first town to be openly hostile to him in weeks put him on edge.

He’d heard rumours about Stilben being as rotten as the swamp next to it. He’d underestimated it, evidently. 

He sighed. “I’ll follow.”

Cihro beamed, flicked his hood back over his ears, and lead Union past the group by the door. One spit as Union passed and he strode out into the night, tense.

Once outside, Union stuck close to Cihro’s side despite his misgivings and repeatedly glanced over his shoulder. It was damp from a recent rain and puddles and mud splashed up his greaves and cloak. He rubbed his arms despite the humidity.

“What’s the name of the tavern?” he asked, mostly to distract himself. In the dark it was easy to misjudge a smile as a grimace, but as they progressed through town and the buildings evolved from shambles to structures, they seemed to lessen.

“The one we’re going to? The Sunset Stride. Way better than ‘The Pits’, right? Even the name sucks.”

Union chuckled. Some of his tension exited with it, but as his body relaxed, his toe caught a loose stone in the pavement and he crashed to his hands and knees. Everything wrong from his day sprung on him again and he curled his gauntlets into fists and fought back tears.

Cihro materialized at his side, hands out to help but not touching. “You okay?”

“I’m alright. I’m clumsy, is all.” He pushed to his feet and examined his soiled robes. “I’m debating skipping town entirely and riding through the night to get to the next one at this point. That, or camping.”

“Alone?”

“If I must. I arrived here alone.” He winced. His honesty was compulsive and it could bite him in the rear. Now Cihro knew nobody was here to watch his back.

Cihro studied him. His eyes darted to behind his shoulder. “Oh, fuck.”

Union turned. The group from before stood at the bottom of the small incline of the road, lurking in the shadow of a cobblestone archway. Union glowered. Cihro stepped up beside him.

“Easy, Cihro,” one up-front said. “We just want the cleric.”

“You guys seriously have nothing better to do?” Cihro asked.

“Showing a nark a thing or two seems important to me,” he replied. 

“A nark?” Union asked. “Have we met?”

“Jeez, the guy’s ratted out so many people he doesn’t even remember.” He glowered. “Typical priest.”

“Yes, well, this priest can fend for himself,” Union replied, pressing his foot to a rock. He channelled his divine magic into light to coat it and kicked it down the path. The light filled the alley, revealing more faces than there were at the bar. Fear gripped him, and he saw the confidence drain from Cihro’s face as well.

A bolt flew out of the dark; aimed for Union’s leg, but it clattered off the pavement beside him. Cihro flicked out a dagger, one Union hadn’t seen him holding, grabbed his wrist, and bolted up the path. The force nearly upended Union and he staggered every few steps to keep up. He felt another bolt shatter off the shield strapped to his back.

They flew by some guards. Cihro urgently pointed back in the direction they came, shouting, and the guards rushed off. Cihro then yanked Union down several more roads, his armour hitting stone hard and loud and his breath coming fast. He had no time to think of a spell, let alone the air to cast one.

The shouts following them died off but Cihro continued to sprint with Union in tow until they reached a wide, well-lit two-storey building. Instead of the door, however, he ducked around the side and sat Union between some barrels.

Cihro braced his hands on the lids of the two barrels by Union’s head, bowing his head and panting.

“Gods, that armour really weighs you down, huh?” he gasped. 

Union curled up, silent. Cihro glanced back to the mouth of the alley. A few people passed the entrance, but in the minutes that passed, nobody bothered them. They caught their breath.

“You promised you weren’t going to lead me down any dark alleys,” Union said. From inside he heard muffled laughter, drinks meeting, and music. It felt so far, but he knew he was only steps away from warmth and peace.

“I tried. Habit, I guess.” Cihro straightened and offered him a hand. Union accepted and Cihro helped haul him to his feet. “I didn’t think we’d look so hot entering the tavern at a sprint.”

“No,” Union agreed. “To be fair, I don’t think I’ll look very good entering the tavern covered in mud, either.”

“Sorry.”

Union smiled. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Cihro. You helped me. I dread to think what would have happened if I stayed at that bar. Sometimes when you do good you make enemies of bad people. I can indeed fend for myself, but it would be at the expense of property damage and a lot of angry guards.” He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gratefully. “Please let me buy you a drink.”

Cihro looked him up and down. “Honestly, I feel like I should be buying you a drink at this point given the night you’ve had.”

Union headed towards the alley exit. “Let’s pay for a round each, then, shall we?”


	10. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [it's always sunny card] Union burns down a building!

[39]

Twill was a welcome warmth against his side. Of all the things he should have welcomed in the moment, he didn’t think warmth was one. He wished to feel cool inside, but his blood ran hot from the run to the inn. He felt it no matter where he placed his hands, even through his armour. Every inch of him radiated heat from his infernal heritage.

Heat was what brought him here. He could still feel it lashing his front, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make him sweat. He could still see it, too, the roaring inferno crackling wood, exploding glass, and consuming the fur and flesh of tabaxi men. He recalled the face of the one nearest to him, shrieking in his attempt to flee but succumbing a moment too soon. He saw the evidence of it in the scorch marks on Morjan’s clothes and Sylus’ armour. He saw it on the skin of the person he leaned on for support.

_He_ did that. He hurt his friends. They caused the deaths of those uninvolved before, but a lot of them were indirect. There was no one else to blame here. The fire came from his own hands and the resulting destruction had come from being complacent.

He’d always believed fire to be beautiful. He had perhaps forgotten how potent it was as well.


	11. Revivify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union fails to resurrect Morjan.

[45]

Union had tried this once before, with Ash. At the time he was successful, watching her body go from life sucked corpse to living and breathing and punching his nose. He knew he could do it. **  
**

With Morjan, he failed. There was the breath of a moment after the spell. It was a test of the strength of his wisdom and his connection to his deity. He reached out into the void, but found the darkness too vast, too imposing. There was no wayward hand for him to grasp and bring home to their body and no guiding light for him to follow. When he opened his eye, Morjan remained the same, still.

He struck the ground beside him, his face wet with tears and his heart in pieces. There were so many before Morjan that he wanted to revive, and now that he had the power and the means, he couldn't. Morjan risked their life to protect them, the least he could do was bring them back and show them their courage. To thank them and shower them with his appreciation. 

He rose to his feet, his fingers grazing their forehead one last time. “I'll be back for you,” he whispered; a promise. He could try again. He clattered down the stone stairs and followed everyone's charge, his divine fury rising within him like a bonfire. He failed at resurrection, but he wouldn't fail at taking Raian's life for the one she stole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Union got the killing blow. B)


	12. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union almost dies. His love for his friends keeps him from spiraling.

[56]

Twill’s hug was just a little too hard. Union understood why, but he voiced his concern with a strained “Too tight, dear,” and a wheeze. She released him and the group of them searched the dead and unconscious.

Pain ensnared his entire body, had him constricted in it like a snake. There was a particularly bad throb from where he was initially gutted that made him nauseous and his arm was sore from taking blows to his shield. An arrow still stuck out of his clavicle.

The number of people who wanted him dead but had failed continued to rise.

Most of his pain was physical. He was calm and methodical as he patted through the pockets of the thieves, even if he missed some things. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, but none of it for his friends. They protected him and before the fight their intentions were true. They wanted answers and to part with the city without leaving another massacre in their wake. No success.

He stopped to rest his weight against the bar. He observed the overturned tables and sticky red giblets that had once been a person or two. He was tired, he realized. He felt the echo of an old weariness that once drove him to traveling alone and nearly got him killed by harpies. No matter how Sylus had conducted himself, Union thought the end result was always going to be the same. It was that sort of pessimism that almost took his life.

It wasn’t a lack of faith in his friends or too much in the people they encountered, though. He’d traveled enough to know where to draw the line and who to divide and parcel out his trust to. But the vileness of who and what they were up against and the constant attacks drained him. Marquet and Tal’dorei were oceans apart and little had changed since their excursion in the desert.

He breathed deeply, gathering himself. He examined his friends among the mess and managed a smile. He promised himself he would never return to that headspace. His friends fighting in the name of good and making an effort to lift the corruption from the land and its people was enough to stop him from spiralling. 


	13. What Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union dies.

[60]

Union remembered asking Sylus what happened after he died. Sylus explained there was nothing. Blackness.

It bothered him at the time. Sylus was a devoted paladin when he asked. Did Erathis have nothing for him? No light, no warmth, no lost friends or family waiting to greet him with open arms? 

Knowing what he knew now, he wouldn't have been surprised if that was how the Lawbearer handled the death of her devotees, but it still made him wonder if the same fate awaited him as a cleric of Sarenrae.

He felt a cold touch at the base of his spine, then race up to his neck and consume his body. For a moment he saw the world through a glass window, Morjan breaking out of invisibility with their sword arcing, the wyvern way up high, Sylus on the ground, and Twill and Amias nowhere to be seen. His heart ached with worry and he pressed his hand to the glass. 

In that moment he breathed out a quick prayer for the safety of his loved ones and a plea that they could escape the Shadowfell safely. Then, it was as if he blinked and closed his eye for one second. Two. Three. 

He heard a distant call, like a voice outside a dream. He had no physical body, but somehow he turned greet it.

Air rushed into his lungs and he gasped like there'd been nothing there, dry and desperate. His eye flew open. He felt a warm weight on his chest, something firm but comforting against the madness still swarming about them. He grasped at it unconsciously like another holy symbol and squeezed with the last of his strength. He knew it well and met her gaze. 

"Twill," he gasped. She had the same relief, fear, and disbelief etched into her face when Morjan had drawn breath in his lap in Marquet. He was alive.

Had he died? His holy symbol pulsed once like a heartbeat against his chest. He had. 

"Thank you," he managed, then swallowed a sob. "I'm sorry." He didn't know what for.

In his haze he thought about what there was. He knew what it was like to be where Twill sat, but his role was reversed. It was unreachable, unknowable. Sylus was right. There was nothing. It almost filled him with a cold dread and tears sprung to his eye, but he focused on his friends and latched on to their presence with a vice. 

Maybe he simply hadn't been gone long enough. Maybe the Shadowfell interfered with what came after. 

Perhaps his prayer had been answered. He could see his friends safely out of the Shadowfell if he lived.


	14. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union casts magic without his holy symbol.

[61]

Union had not been without his holy symbol since Regis had gifted it to him. **  
**

He knew Sarenrae was still there, a hand placed over his as he conjured up basic magic and she lived in the proof of the shackles that fell from his wrists from a prayer. But there was a disconnect, too, like she was reaching out to him through murky water, her voice and its message muffled. He felt like he was missing part of himself.

Some of his spells sputtered when they started, like he had to strike a match a few times before it ignited. Despite this, he felt his devotion stronger than ever. He knew that he’d feel it tenfold if - when - he retrieved his symbol. There was a rush of satisfaction when the flames finally leapt from his fingers and he repaid the pain he and his friends had endured. 

He whispered a thank you to her when Morjan rushed at him and attached themselves to his middle in a hug. He folded them into his arms as snug as he could and kissed the top of their head, relief washing over him in waves. He saw a blur of black in his peripheral and looked to see Amias on his knees before them, face tear-stricken.

The sight startled him. He only had time to brush away a few tears with his thumb before Morjan tugged him into their hug, his face pressed to Union’s stomach. He rested a hand on the back of each of their heads and into their hair, for better or worse feeling like a man with his displaced family.

It was the most at peace he’d felt since they arrived in the Shadowfell.


	15. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union realizes he's in love with Twill.

Waking up in River's Rest was a mixed bag of old comforts ringed with bad memories, phantom pain, and phantom grief for a lost faith.

For one panicked moment as consciousness returned, Union feared he was back in that place, that everything since was a dream. But as light coloured his eyelids and his senses aligned and focused, he knew that wasn't the case. There was only a dull ache in his head from his surgery, not one encasing the whole left side of his body, and there was no burning in his lungs when he drew breath.

This was Regis' home, not Jamie's. He was safe and cared for. Sarenrae lived through him and the holy symbol around his neck. 

He felt a pressure around his hand, his arm dangling off the bed. He wiggled his fingers, freeing a thumb to trace the texture of the skin enveloping his. He met scarred tissue and warmth. He squeezed Twill's hand to show he was awake without opening his eyes.

"I'm scared to open them," he said quietly. He heard her shift.

"Why?" There was a smile in her voice despite his statement, like she was glad he was conscious. 

He almost shrugged. "I don't know. I'm scared nothing will look different, or be too different."

"Try it."

He peeked open one eye, the one he'd had since birth. Twill came into focus as he normally saw her, as they met. He slowly opened the other. He inhaled and both eyes stretched wide.

His heart felt too enormous for his chest. Twill hadn't budged from his side, as sturdy as ever, and she wouldn't have moved even if he didn't wake for another week. He clenched her hand tight, bug eyed, and reached out with the other. She leaned toward him without hesitation, and he fit his palm against her cheek, instantly exploring the shape of her nose with his fingers.

Everything looked..symmetrical, crystal clear, and three dimensional. He noticed details he'd never seen before, small infrequent moles and tiny, near missable cuts. She beamed.

"You're the right distance away," he marveled, voice frail and shaky. _But she's not, be closer, kiss her—_

What? Oh. So there was a name for the feeling simmering in his chest and spreading through his arms, meeting with the burning in the pads of his fingers. He withdrew and shifted to sit up on his elbows, but she thrust out an arm to firmly but gently lower him back into bed.

"Nope," she said. "You just woke up, don't push yourself. Be patient."

Her touch left him breathless. Fortunately, he could blame being winded on the exertion of moving when he shouldn't have been. He huffed, half indignant and half a laugh. He was a doctor, he should’ve known better.

"Can I see?" he asked, gesturing behind her. She nodded and swivelled in her seat to grab his silver hand mirror from his bag on the floor, then spun round to offer it. He delicately took it in hand, hesitant again of the results, but stole a breath and lifted it.

Two functional eyes blinked back at him. He tilted his jaw, opening his new eye wide. His original eye was violet on black with a cat-like pupil. His new eye was as polar opposite as it could be, human in appearance. A blue iris sat amidst a white sclera and his pupil was round.

Combined with the sunburst scar on his forehead and the old claw marks, he was a mismatched face of features. Worry replaced curiosity and other newfound feelings for Twill.

"Ah," he said. "I look.." He trailed off, unsure. 

"I think it looks quite striking," Twill offered, sincerely. He spotted blush rush over his cheeks like brushfire and ducked his head, but a smile won. 

"Thank you," he said. He would remember that when he felt weird again. If Twill thought it was striking, then that's all that mattered. "I'm worried it looks strange. There's a reason I wore such a large eyepatch when I didn't need to."

She tilted her head.

"I didn't want to scare people," he explained, setting the mirror in his lap. "I'm a cleric. Sometimes I'm the first thing someone sees when they wake up, and my scars aren't exactly kitten scratches. They aren't necessarily something someone wants at their bedside."

Twill gave him an odd look he had no name for. He continued, "I want people to think I'm approachable."

"You are approachable," Twill pointed out. "Your appearance doesn't matter so much as the energy you put out.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He waved a hand. “Enough being insecure about it. Could you pass me the water, please, dear?”

He withheld the urge to call her dearest. She probably wouldn’t think anything of it, but—

She began shoving pillows under his back, supported his hand in one of hers and spread a palm over his spine to help him sit upright. She held the glass to his lips with a hand framing the back of his neck. The water was comparably cool against the heat in his body. He lifted a hand to the cup and she retreated once he had it taken care of.

Waking up and having someone who cared for him as deeply as Twill made a world of difference, he thought. Not a trace of his initial concerns or doubts remained.

She plucked his empty glass and retrieved his mirror, setting them on the dresser together like friends. The weight of sleep expanded behind his eyes and into his throat and he broke into a yawn.

“Will you stay?” he asked on the tail end of his yawn.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He nodded and smiled, hand gravitating to hers to hold once more. Perhaps he was too cautious to act on his other impulses, but he laced their fingers and sunk into bed, eyes closed.

He was a sunflower that had turned its face towards the sun and soaked in its radiance. He rested easily, assured by Twill’s presence and the warmth of his love – because that’s what it was.


	16. Lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union stays behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was spread really thin at this point and had to drop out of the game for a while, so Union stayed behind to manage a guild in Vasselheim while the party went off and did their thing.

Union watched the party until he could no longer see them. With his new eye and the help of his shield, he watched them for quite a distance. When they left his sight, he tried to listen for the clop of hooves and the creak of wooden wheels on a cart, but silence reigned. He then stayed until his feet started to ache, staring at the spot where they’d vanished. 

It seemed a small pain compared to the one in his heart. The pain was sharpened after his time spent with Twill. He hadn't taken a second of it for granted and yet it still felt too short. All of their time fighting death was like an eternity and their time at rest flew by. That time spent together was a reminder of what he'd miss and he could still see wounds that needed to close and ones that could potentially reopen in his absence. 

But he felt a great pride in watching them from afar. He couldn't see the difference their group was making, if any, from up close. Perhaps he could see the ripples of change they made if he stayed in one place. Nobody saw waves in a lake where they threw stones if they never stayed to watch the water.

More than that, he wanted to make their house in Vasselheim a home. It was never much of one given how sparsely they visited, the tent was more their home than anything. If he remained, his presence filled it with warmth and life. He would be the lighthouse for his friends to navigate their way back to and a safe harbour for them to take refuge in.

The wolf pup whined beside him, sat on his rump. Union clicked his tongue.

"I know, come now," he said, ruffling the fur between his ears as he turned into a brusque walk. "We have work to do." 


	17. Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union adopts a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For promptober 2020.

Union's love for cats was no secret. To his utter delight, they loved him right back. **  
**

He thought it had something to do with feeding them whenever he visited the Abundant Terrace. What began as stopping to feed them when he shopped turned into trips with his sole purpose being to fill their bellies, and they flocked to him as soon as he set foot in their territory. He didn’t need their affection, he simply wanted them cared for; but if he won their adoration in the process, he was content.

On one particular visit he noticed a new addition to the colony – a thin, wrinkly cat with large, bat-like ears. It had a grey-brown coat and a soft, pink underbelly. He did a double take – it was wrinkly because it had no _fur_. 

Union knelt to watch him eat a bit, but the moggie trotted over to him and jumped into his lap. He bundled into a ball the shape of bread, eyes closed. Ferals weren't usually so friendly – Union wondered if he'd had a family.

“You must be freezing, poor thing,” Union cooed, laying a hand on the cat’s back. The skin wrinkled up around him and he found himself enamoured. Did all cats do that? He stroked his spine until his ankles ached and gently removed him from his lap. The cat looked affronted as his paws were set back on cold pavement.

"I'm afraid I must leave," Union said, but his heart gave a lurch of pain greater than he was used to. "I'll be back tomorrow, cleric's honour." 

He stood and started his way home. It didn't take him long to realize the same cat was tailing him. He stopped and turned. The cat stopped, too, giving him a slow, baleful blink before walking up to his leg and wrapping around it.

Union looked towards home, biting his lip, his tail giving a swish. The cat's tail gave an answering one, if more tense. 

"To hell with it," Union muttered to himself, quiet enough so Sarenrae didn't hear, then bent over to scoop up the stray and carry him the rest of the way.

* * *

The cat settled in quickly. Despite ample space to run and explore the guildhall, he usually kept within a room or two of Union. Or maybe that was Union, following to make sure he didn't knock over any lit candles or decor while trying to wrap up the day's business.

Eventually he was fed again, and bathed. Union was terrified to do the latter, and the cat yowled, but tolerated it once he realized the water was warm. A scratch or two on Union's arms was nothing compared to the wounds on his face.

He dried him off, earned a treat for his troubles, and Union finally settled into an armchair by the fire. He didn't have any clothes in a cat's size, but he had plenty of blankets. He had also taken up knitting while the Killjoys were away. Maybe he could make a tiny sweater. 

He had money, he had space – it seemed foolish to him not to have adopted sooner.

The boy found him as soon as he'd relaxed and curled up on his lap, close to his stomach for maximum heat. Union stroked his head and back and was rewarded with impressive purrs.

A tight knot in his chest loosened ever so slightly, one he hadn't noticed before. Tears bit his eyes – loneliness was a terrible thing, an intruder living beneath the floorboards and taking without him noticing. He interacted with the guild on a daily basis and made friends with the Ornamental Sword, but they weren't his favourite people. He needed companionship. He needed to nurture and fuss and care and touch. 

He was depressed.

Union sniffed. "You're awful cuddly," he said. "A true king of it. I'll call you Lord Snuggles – Lord for short."

Lord began kneading tiny biscuits into the hem of his shirt without moving his legs. Union rubbed over the base of an ear and smiled. "Did I save you, or did you save me?"


	18. Whirlwind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party returns to Vasselheim. Twill kisses Union.

Twill was a force of nature. Union always knew that, but he felt it in full when she twirled him up into her arms like a leaf on the wind, caught in a hurricane of excitement and mirth and warmth. He felt as light as easily as she carried him and all of his worries for their group’s safety were carried off in the breeze she brought with her. 

He was dizzy when she landed him back on his feet, but her grip kept him from toppling sideways. Then there were hands cradling his face, lips brushing his, a question. He wasn’t just light-headed from spinning, he realized, but his overwhelming joy at seeing her and the love flowing out of every pore of his body. It seemed only natural to press against her, a yes, and only more natural still to mould himself against her.

He remembered to pull away when he heard the footsteps of the rest of their party over the rush of blood in his ears. Or rather, Sylus’ metallic footsteps, because Morjan and Amias’ approach was soft. He lowered himself onto his heels. He didn’t remember rising on to his toes.

He was still dizzy. He kept a hand on Twill’s shoulder as he stepped to the side to glance past her. Sylus wore a knowing grin on his face and Union couldn’t help but duck his head when he smiled sheepishly in return, his cheeks burning. Morjan and Amias appeared unmoved. 

Regardless of their reaction, he was glad to see them and greeted them all. Morjan pulled away sooner than he expected, he noted, but his heart still fluttered an erratic tune and he couldn’t get a bead on emotions that weren’t his own. 

“You’re not going to kiss me, too, right,” Sylus joked as he pulled out of a hug. Union scoffed.

“No, not unless you want me to." He opened the front door of the house with a little bow. “Welcome home, everyone.” As they filed past with Twill bringing up the rear, he reached out to place a tentative hand on her arm to stop her. 

“We should talk,” he said, as gently as he could. Not as a warning, but a request for an in-depth discussion of what occurred. He let his hand linger, then dropped it. "Maybe after dinner. But we should talk."

He shot her another smile and entered behind her, closing the door behind him.


	19. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union meets Cihro again, this time in Westruun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The brackets for this fic are actually for Cihro's game. There was a tournament and the Killjoys were in town.

[80]

Union tapped him on the shoulder.

The hooded man gave the barest of jumps and turned a little too quickly for someone on a festival day. For one swift moment when their eyes met, Union saw fear. It was quickly replaced with curiosity, then he lit up in recognition. The crowd thinned around them, herding towards where they could either sign up for a fight or watch the ones to follow.

“Cihro, is it?” Union asked with a smile. “Do you remember me? We met in Stilben. I thought I recognized you.”

“Yeah!” Cihro exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Uhm, I remember what we did, but I forget your name. It’s been a while.”

“Union.”

“Right. It’s good to see a friendly face.”

Cihro’s eyes darted over Union’s face, from his new eye to the explosion of a scar on his forehead. He took in the armour, the shield, anything that was different. His eyes moved too fast, though, like he was trying to absorb as much information as he could in as little time as possible. His expression was inscrutable.

On the surface, Cihro hadn’t changed as much. A deep green cloak hugged his collar and cascaded over his shoulders and an intricate ivory bow was strapped to his back, its string pulsating faintly with magic. His clothes and armour were largely the same, even if it was of a different cut or design. 

It was his face that had changed the most. Dark circles ringed his eyes and while his new scruff was handsome, it also appeared disheveled. He looked far more stressed than Union remembered him being, a coiled spring of a man. He looked unwell, borderline sick. Haggard.

It was none of his business and he knew, reasonably, that he shouldn’t ask, but Cihro pulled him out of a pickle and his nature got the best of him.

“Are you alright?” Union asked.

Cihro shifted his weight. “I’ve been better,” he hedged, “but I’m still alive. That counts for something, right?”

“It does,” Union agreed. “It does.” There was a lot there, under the surface. He could have talked at length about how life was about living and not just surviving, but he got it, perhaps a little too well. This wasn’t a conversation meant for a crowd out in the open, and especially not for a day of celebration. 

Cihro understood the same. “I found out I have a brother,” he announced, and his face lifted and his eyes twinkled, some of his exhaustion dissipating. A glimmer of his former self. “And I have a boyfriend now.”

“That’s wonderful! Are they here?”

“My brother is.” Cihro’s face fell a hair, but his smile remained. “My partner is in Vasselheim. He’d like the festival.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Union knew the pain of distance and recognized the longing for someone not there in his voice a little too well, too. “I’m seeing someone as well, actually.” He pointed over his shoulder to Twill, where the Killjoys were congratulating Sylus on his victory. She lifted her head and waved. Cihro waved back. “We have other things we’d like to do, I should go back. I just wanted to make sure I said hello first.”

“I appreciate it. Good luck, if you’re competing in anything.”

“You as well.” Union laid a hand on his shoulder. Cihro feigned a relaxed posture well, but Union felt the tension under his palm, even through his gauntlet. He had become familiar with it from those close to him wearing themselves thin. “Shall we catch up later?”

“Sure, I’d be game. I’m in the archery contest, but I should be drinking after that. I’ll probably be in the tent with some friends.”

“No shady friends, I hope?” Union asked with a grin, harkening back to their first meeting.

“Haha!” There wasn’t a single ounce of joy in his laugh. “No.”

Union cleared his throat and released his shoulder. He didn’t want to leave on a sour note, so he smiled as sweetly as he could. “Enjoy the rest of your festival, Cihro. Even if we don’t catch each other later today I’ll be in the city for a while, so I’m sure other opportunities will arise.”

“For sure,” Cihro said. “I can’t let you leave without introducing you to my brother. He likes Sarenrae.”

Union perked up. “Oh?”

“I guess like is an understatement. He worships her, too.”

“Well, then, I look forward to it.” He bowed a little, which Cihro returned with a tilt of his head. “Be seeing you.”

“Toodles.”

Union turned and began his walk back to his friends. He risked one more glance over his shoulder. Cihro remained, but his gaze followed the backs of his heels, distant and unfocused. He adjusted the strap for his bow and turned, his cloak obscuring the shape of his body as he disappeared among a cluster of people.

Union could only wonder how the years had treated Cihro to shape him that way. So much had happened to him, the same could only be true of others.


	20. Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Killjoys fight a mechnical monster made by a rakshasa beneath Westruun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Union and Twill made a deal that if either of them got swallowed by something bigger than them again they owed the other a drink.

Blackness again.

This blackness wasn’t nothingness, this blackness was everything. It pulsed and undulated like a living creature. He heard the sputtering of old metal, was lurched from side to side into a set of bars he couldn’t see whenever the thing moved. He could hear, but it sounded like he was underwater, and then his ears rang from the pounding in his head. He knew he was alive because he could feel the thing trying to drain the life from him.

He could breathe. That was more than he could ask for and more than he’d gotten in the past. He would never allow himself to drown in darkness.

He grasped his holy symbol as it surged underfoot again. He stumbled under the throw and pull of gravity until his back met metal and he toppled legs over head, like he’d been flipped over like an hourglass. He slid to a stop with his legs twisted up in the air and his weight spread over his upper back. He murmured a prayer and a swirl of warm, radiant energy filled him to the brim, healing even the worst of his wounds. The sand reset. He was still in this. The blackness shirked away from his holy light for just a second and he half grimaced, half grinned.

Union would burn his way out from the inside if he had to. And if he didn’t have the strength, his friends did.

Something entered the cage – a magic arrow, its tip gleaming, shot between his calves. It bounced around inside with him, then struck true. A piercing shriek engulfed him, inside and out, rattling his bones. He was midair, falling, then impacted the ground and the blackness rushed out, free. It tore towards the rakshasa and Union oriented himself in the fight. Morjan’s bow shimmered with a freshly loosed arrow. 

Amias and Morjan dashed over. Amias struck the lock once, twice with the pommel of his sword, and it caved and clattered to the ground. The door creaked open on its own.

“Hello, Union,” he greeted, panting. “Welcome back.”

“Hello,” Union returned meekly. “Thank you, dear.”

Amias was gone, bolting towards the shadow, its black tendrils knifing and shredding the rakshasa to ash. Union clambered to his feet and stepped out, following Amias until he could release another wave of light and catch it at its edge. The sentient shadow recoiled and Twill closed in, smothering it with flaming blows of her morningstar until nothing remained.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the cave air stilled and the chaos subsided.

Morjan ran to hug him. It was familiar; it brought him the same comfort as it did in the Shadowfell. If this was going to become a regular post-battle routine, he was pleased. He returned the embrace. 

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered, petting their hair, because he knew. For saving all of them, he thought.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I was so scared.” They squeezed tighter. “I'm really glad you're okay. You should stop getting eaten by terrible monsters. Also, we, uh...we should talk, I think.”

“We’ll talk,” he agreed, then added, “I’ll try to stop getting eaten by giant monsters.”

Twill stumbled to join them and gathered them both up in her arms. Union was doubly consoled, any lingering darkness vanishing at her warmth. She was shaking. He remembered the look in her eye when she stalked towards them and struck at Sylus, but it was in the past. He wriggled an arm under hers and laid a hand over her back while keeping the other around Morjan.

He gave a trembling, breathy laugh, grateful to fight another day, to hug another day. Twill was herself, and he would fight tooth and nail to keep it that way. They all would. They would never stay caged by fetters of metal or magic. 

“I owe you a drink, love,” he said to her.


	21. Glorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Union regenerates his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For promptober 2020.

Union woke at dawn. He sat up like a wooden plank fixed at the waist, quaking with a budding energy. Twill stirred next to him. It was around the time she usually got up to train with Sylus, but only on weekdays. 

"There's something I need to do," he declared to himself more than his partners.

"What is it?" Twill asked, groggy.

He beamed at her, awake as if he'd been up for hours, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Magic I know," he enthused. "I'm going to regenerate my eye!"

* * *

Union already had his bum eye operated on, and the magical one was easily removed with a single word, no surgery required. He washed it, wrapped it, and placed it to rest in a wooden box with velvet lining. He would find it a new recipient. 

He then embarked for the Braving Grounds, a path his feet and soul had memorized that lead all the way into the Temple of Renewal. The name seemed extra fitting, given the reason for his visit. 

He entered a semi-private alcove near the head of the church, carved into stone walls to the side of the pews. He found something soft for his knees and knelt, blowing out a slow, meditative breath from his mouth as he removed his eyepatch. It’d been eleven years, now.

A bowl of holy water lay before him. He placed both hands on the surface, wetting only his palms and fingers, then raised them to cover his empty socket, overlapping one another.

He whispered a soft, quick prayer: “Everlight, you were there when I first lost sight of my path. Thank you for bringing me out of the darkness and allowing me to light it for my companions.”

Her strength was a wellspring that spilled forth from his heart and he tapped into his new vein of power. The holy water leapt into his skin, hot just shy of burning. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant, either – he felt _everything_. The new eye sewed itself from nothing, expanding to fill the hole and attaching itself to his nervous system. Within two unusual minutes of being viscerally aware of his body, it passed.

He blinked open his eyes. Like with his magical eye, he _saw_. He scrambled to pull out his silver hand mirror and propped it up in front of his nose. Two matching eyes stared back, black sclera and violet irises, and it was glorious.


End file.
